The Twists of Fate
by SanKae
Summary: Not all tales are remembered. This is the story of Arlene, whose placid life is upset by the gathering of an unworldly storm.


I've never been one for fanfiction.

Sure, its fun to read and enjoy, but I don't encourage the idea of someone taking over the role another person has created. It is nearly impossible to do justice to what the creator of the character had in mind. So, call me a hypocrite, but I'm trying my hand at it. 

A little differently, however. I am taking a world and putting into it my own characters, of which I know how they think and who they are. I hope you like them.

Also, this is a Pilot chapter. I may make a second one, but if I don't get good feedback on this or the next, I will most likely stop writing them. It is not in my best interests to continue to write what no one enjoys; so, please, if you wish to know what happens, say so. Constructive feedback is always appreciated.

Arrow

* * *

_**The sun rose**_ behind a thick veil of mist, completely blotted out by the grey wall of clouds that barred its path. Soft rain coated the mountain over which it fell, trickling in streams over the edge of the bluffs towards the ocean, and the tiny town that rested on its edge.

Below, the people of Denholm slept, undisturbed. There was no reason for any one of them to suppose that today may be different than any other, no foresight or warning to help them brace for the events soon to take place. And for one occupant of this town, no time to prepare for the prophesy in which she was to play a key role.

Her name was Arlene Nennet, and she was, at looks, nothing you would expect a heroine to be. She had no past of great deeds, nor a line of fathers descending from great heroes. She was no warrior and had little training with any weapon other than a bow, and had no steed to carry her to where she needed to be. Furthermore, she was only the daughter of an old fisherman, and lived in a small wooden house rather than a castle, and was hardly of age, just scratching fifteen the year before. Yet fate hardly takes into account the day-to-day lives of its puppets, or past family histories over which they wield no control.

Not to say destiny was responsible for all deeds she was yet to accomplish. It simply set things into motion and sat back to watch the progress of its creation; what its heroes did with what was given to them was entirely composed of their will and strength.

Yet it is debatable whether or not fate played a hand in the girl's early awakening on that last, foggy and dreary morning of her normal life. She awoke in the dark space of her father's home and was instantly restless, an uncomfortable prick at the back of her mind. And no matter how she turned nor what she thought about, sleep had left her.

Her boots were beneath her bed, her rod by the door; pulling on a decent pair of pants and slipping a tunic over her lighter sleeping garment, she found these two items and crept carefully out into the night.

The morning was essentially a fallen cloud; the air was heavy and clung wetly to her hair and clothes. Her eyes could make out little more than darkened, hazy outlines and her breath felt trapped in her lungs. Soft rain pattered against the ancient cobblestones below her feet as she made her way out towards the dock.

"Arlene!" A sudden cry shattered her serene, muted world and caused the girl to flinch; she whirled on the source. In the doorway of a house only a few yards from her a small figure stood, grinning broadly with gaps between her teeth. A brown coat was draped around her shoulders, crude moccasins on her tiny feet; her wide silver eyes looked on expectantly.

Arlene raised a finger to her lips. "Ayla," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep," the young girl responded, quickly lowering her voice as Arlene frantically emphasized her finger at her mouth. "Can I come with you?"  
Peeling away a few strands of wet hair that had plastered itself to her head, Arlene let out a breath. Ayla's mother, Elan, would most certainly not approve…not that she would need to know. The young girl had been out fishing on several occasions.

"Alright, hurry up- and keep your voice down, please." The head of fiery auburn bounced eagerly forward, a tiny hand reaching up to entwine hers with Arlene's free one. Tipping her head back the little girl beamed, already leading the way to where she knew Arlene kept her canoe.

_**Past where**_ the waves broke against the rugged coastline, the cove was a calm shard of the sea; a shelter for an array of seabirds and fish, who were protected from the rage of the deep ocean. Today the mist clung to the darkened water, hovering thickly in the air and draping a soft veil over the rest of the world. It enclosed its two visitors in a quiet dimension of their own, parallel to time and space and free of worry.

And although this place was somewhat sacred by Arlene, somehow her usual preferred isolation never stretched to include Ayla- the small girl's company was not one of hindrance. She seemed to have the same calm fascination with the ocean as Arlene; when she had finished chattering for the first few minutes she lay down at the end of the canoe and leaned her head on her arm, the tips of her fingers trailing into the water. There she seemed content to draw faded lines in the surface of the waves.

From the other side of the small boat, Arlene watched her. There was a strange tenderness in her eyes, a look that almost seemed as if she understood the very language of the winds, and could comprehend the swellings of the sea. Other children of her age would easily tire of the waves stretching endlessly into the horizon, squirm under the calm and quiet the ocean pressed forcibly upon them. Yet Ayla was more than at ease with this; Arlene wondered if she had been as quiet when she was young.

Somewhere the sun continued to rise, hidden behind the thick clouds that bricked the sky at all angles. A light breeze swept across the surface of the water; Arlene re-cast her line.

"Arlene," Ayla said suddenly, her voice so sharp and clear through the muted silence that Arlene nearly upset the boat. She turned her head; the young girl was sitting up now, the stormy expanse of her eyes bright with epiphany. She had pulled her legs back under her, her elbows resting on her knees with her chin propped up on her palms.

"Do you think the goddesses are real?" She asked. Her tone was lofty, but there was a certain edge to her eyes that told Arlene that part of her was sincerely curious. 

The older girl shrugged, leaning the handle of her rod against the side of the boat and shifting to mimic her friend's position. "That's what everyone seems to think."

"Yeah, but do _you_?"

Arlene smiled, craning her head down and rubbing at a spot in her hair. "I dunno, Ayla."

"…so you're not sure?" The little girl pressed. Arlene looked up, her look skeptic. This sudden insight came without warning.

"What brought this on?" she asked, her dark emerald eyes fixed upon her friend's.

Ayla turned, crossing her legs beside her as she gazed over the misting surface of the ocean. "Everyone keeps talking about the goddesses who made Hyrule- but, how come we never see them?"

Arlene nodded slowly. Similar thoughts had, at one time or another, crossed her mind as well. Ayla's insight, for her tender age, was astonishing.

"I know what you mean," Arlene suddenly admitted. "I'm not entirely sure I believe in them, either." 

"I believe in them," she corrected quickly. There was no wavering in her voice, no hesitation in her eyes. "I just want to know why they don't ever come down and visit us."

"Oh," Arlene nodded slowly. "Yeah, wonder why."

As the little girl turned back to the prow of the canoe, however, Arlene continued to stare after her, befuddled. Ayla returned to being Ayla, leaning over the side and reaching towards a small branch that had been swept out.

"We should probably head in soon," Arlene said after a measurable pause, sending a glance up towards the masked sun. It was little more than a dim orb.

"Not yet," Ayla responded contently, tracing images in the surface of the water.

**_For a while longer_** the two were more than content to bob along in the steady swelling of the ocean. The time came, however, when Arlene knew they needed to get back; they had lost track of time. Elan would no doubt be awake and frantic at her daughter's disappearance- though she would, most likely, know where Ayla had gotten to. Even so, it was with brisk urgency that Arlene began back towards shore.

The fog hadn't lightened a bit, as Arlene had expected it would. Although not disappointed by this, she also realized that conditions such as these would make navigating back to the dock all the more difficult.

Ayla was unusually quiet, submerged in a deep silence that was not so much sad as simply pensive. Every now and then Arlene would catch her eye and she would flash that grin of hers, but few words passed between the pair. Although they had set out with all the gear prepared, neither of them had put any heart into their fishing. The catch pail remained empty, hardly minded; the two had been content with just drifting.

Suddenly the wind picked up, streaming down from the bluffs and howling across the water. Surprised at the sudden change in weather, Arlene shifted her weight to balance the small boat and continued to paddle forward, fearing a storm may be close approaching.

Her fears weren't far from truth; with several more, growing bouts of wind the curtain of mist was torn away, images of the sky and mainland visible in dim patches. For a brief second Arlene was granted a glimpse of the coast.

The sky had darkened, to a shade of deep ebony she had never before seen. It seemed to have splintered, crossed with deep scarlet fissures that throbbed and pulsed like the beatings of a heart. From over the crown of the forested mountain it stained the trees, seeping down the stone of the bluffs and continuing to trickle towards tiny Denholm, whose occupants were out of sight.

Ayla had seen it, too, but her fearful cries fell upon deaf ears as Arlene began at the water again, rowing with a renewed desperation. The layer of fog had resettled over the scene, and through the violent, battering winds the girl was allowed only glances at the shore. The water had become agitated and choppy, spewing up rough waves and swells that only threw the small canoe further off course. Had it not been for Arlene's years of captaining, returning back to dock would have been a nearly impossible task.

Even as it were, navigating back to the small platform of wood was not an easy task. A good few minutes was spent attempting to get alongside it and being battered back by the ocean; on more than one occasion the dinghy had come close to smashing sidelong into the other boats docked there. In the end, Arlene had to steady her boat only long enough for herself and Ayla to get safely on the platform before releasing it, letting it go where the currents took it.

The dock was a mess beneath their feet; never completely sound, it now jerked dangerously in the turbulent water, bits of planks haven been stripped away. Lifting her friend into her arms Arlene pushed forward through the wind, eyes straining through the fog. In the time she had spent battling the ocean the strange storm had only crept closer- its dark trail had stained nearly the entire path up the side of the coast. Arlene's neighbors were, also, in a panic, as the intensity of the weather was nothing they had ever before seen.

Through the howling of the wind and the cries of the terrified townspeople Arlene's voice was lost, her ears filled with the frantic pounding of her own heart and the whimpers of the girl she held close to her. At a loss of what to do next, Arlene turned to angle to where her house was, hoping that her father would have a better idea what to do than she….

"_Ayla!_" An agonized scream rose above the rest. In her arms, the young girl's head jerked up, auburn strands of hair falling into Arlene's face. Her tiny fingers clenched at Arlene's shoulder as she started forward, towards the noise.

Elan stood in the center of the turmoil, face twisted in hysteric worry. A few of her friends had scattered, looking for the child, but she seemed rooted to the spot, immobilized by her horror.

"Elan," Arlene yelled in return, stepping into her line of sight. The woman turned her way and her broke into a bout of sobs, stretching her arms out towards her little girl. As she took the child into her embrace, however, Ayla turned back towards her friend, her deep grey eyes filled with silent worry. Attempting a weak, comforting smile, Arlene turned and took off towards her father's house.

The dark clouds were now entirely overhead, the people below swarming in helpless confusion. They refused to go near the mountain path, seeing as it had been overtaken in shadow- most were retreating back to their homes.

Reaching the door of the home Arlene yanked it open, breaking into the dark space. Calling out for her father, she tore back the curtain separating his room from hers and found him crouched at the foot of his bed, kneeling on the floor with a chain of prayer beads between his fingers. The frail man flinched at her sudden entry, raising his hands to shield his face. When he saw it was his daughter, however, he let out a cry of relief and struggled to his feet, throwing his bony arms about her.

"This storm," he said wearily into her shoulder, "is not one from this world."  
"Father, we need to get-" she cut off abruptly as the earth began to tremble with the force of a horrendous bellow, a cry so powerful and deep that several of the mugs stacked in the cabinet were upset, many crashing to the floor. Arlene's hands leapt to the side of her head, palms pressing into her ears in a futile attempt to block the noise. Her father folded back to the floor, trembling fiercely.

Then, as sudden as the cry had come, it ceased. The wind continued to whistle from outside of the thin wooden walls; Arlene could hear the ocean pounding fiercely against the shore. The shouts of the people had quieted, as well- an eerie silence was left in the vacuum of previous commotion.

A shadow passed across the square of light that had been plastered on the wall opposing the window; Arlene turned in time to see the large limb of some dark creature lift, another taking its place in stride. Biting back her fear, she instinctively backed away, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. Slowly, she reached down to the crouched figure of her old father and, carefully, pulled him back to his feet. The shadow at the window passed; seconds later, there was the splinter of wood followed by the terrified screams of Arlene's neighbors.

Concentrating solely on taking in slow, deliberate breaths and the placement of her feet, the girl led her father across the room to where the hatch to the old cellar was. The padlock was unlocked but heavy, and as she held it open for her father to climb inside, it slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a loud _crack_.

The unseen creature fell upon the shack nearly as soon as Arlene had realized what she had done. In the space of a single breath the roof was suddenly torn away, fractured sections of wood falling to the ground around her.

Her father cried her name, but she was deaf to it, immobilized by fear as she stared up at the monster. She could see no more than a dim, hulking outline, as it was as dark as the black sky above it, and the deep crimson eyes as it bore down upon her. Her mind buzzed numbly, too many commands swarming in the space for her to sort out and obey.

Then, she felt the familiar grip of her father's hand on her leg and snapped back to the conscious world, turning and leaping down into the basement after him as he pulled the door closed.

**_The cellar_** was crafted years before Arlene had even been conceived, long before her father had even came to be; the home of a wine-maker was believed to be built where hers was today. The space below the shack was large and had two small, cavernous spaces carved from it. There Arlene and her father spent the rest of the day, listening helplessly to the muted cries and sounds of destruction that came from the world above.

When, at last, the sounds died away for long enough that the two felt it safe to stir, the sun had set upon the small coastal town. The clouds had passed, the skies opening up to brilliant, starry heavens.

In somewhat of a daze Arlene crossed into the section of her home that still stood, staring hard at the spot where the shack had been torn in half. She couldn't seem to comprehend how close she came to meeting her end; the thought of simply _not being_ was unfathomable. 

How easy it would have been for that to happen, however, was painfully apparent as she stepped out to take in what remained of her little ocean side town.

Houses had been torn apart and crushed like pieces of plywood; huge trees ripped from their bearings like strands of grass; large chips of rock strewn across the shoreline. Tiny pinpricks of light danced on the ends of torches as the villager examined the ruins. Aside from the calmed heaving of the ocean and the usual sounds of the night, the air was silent and heavy with sorrow.

Supporting a good bit of her father's weight Arlene rigidly led the way to where a group of her neighbors had clustered. They shuffled aside absently as she approached, but made no move to greet her. Each set of eyes was fixed at a place over the shoulder of the person across from them, staring blankly off into space.

"Was anyone hurt?" Arlene asked at last, her voice slightly hoarse; she wasn't answered at first.

She tried again; this time, someone shook their head. "We're…we're still looking through the rubble…."

The girl frowned. "Then how come you're not-" she choked off mid-sentence, catching a glimpse of something from behind one of her neighbors. Pulling from her father she pushed past them, her stiff legs shifting into a run.

She couldn't feel her knees as they fell upon the hulking mass of splintered wood; she was numb to the pain in her hands as they tore through it, piece by piece. Her senses were shut to everything except one thought, and upon this her entire mind was bent.

A patch of fiery red was exposed as Arlene overturned a fragment of wood; sucking in a terrified breath, she dug her nails into the next large panel and called upon what remained of her strength.

"Help me!" She cried over her shoulder, feeling panic claw at her throat. In her mind's eye, all she could picture was a small, pale face, deep stormy eyes dark and sightless, mouth agape for the air it would no longer take….

The beam lifted under the combined power of herself and two other men, and Arlene seized the figure, dragging it back out of the rubble.

"Ayla?" The words died in her throat even before she saw the figure's face. The woman she carried was much too heavy, and as she set her down on the sand saw that her hair was too long; it was Elan.

_Where's Ayla? _ Her mind screamed, and Arlene stood, entwining her fingers in her scalp as she bit back the tears of panic that were burning in her eyes. One of the other men sank to the woman's side to assist her; she was barely conscious, but aside from a large gash across her face otherwise unharmed. She was going to be fine, though Arlene was immobilized by the fear that her daughter was not going to be.

_Don't stop,_ she forced herself to take a step forward, then another, and again attacked the pile that was once the home of her friend. Everything seemed all too in focus; the deep creaking of the wood as she stepped over it, the delirious gurgling Elan made as she struggled back to consciousness, the erratic beating of her heart and the closeness of her breath in her ears.

"Ayla," Elan was muttering behind her, her voice growing increasingly stronger. "Ay..Ayla…"

"It's okay," the man assisting her comforted, "we'll find her, don't worry, just take it ea-"

"No," her voice was louder now; it trembled with panic. "No… it… she..._Ayla!_"

The sudden shriek caused Arlene to turn, meeting the eyes of the hysterical mother, who was now attempting to stand. Bewildered, the man strained to hold her back.

"Elan-"

"It took her!" The woman sobbed, turning his way and clawing frantically at his arms. "It took Ayla! I- I couldn't s-stop it…I couldn't do anything…!"  
Her words choked off in a sob and Arlene heard a moan; she had involuntarily slumped back to the earth, defeated. The sound had been her own, and with it had finally come her tears, welling up in the depths of her emerald eyes and spilling over, tracing lines down her face.


End file.
